Look At Me
by Adiiiii
Summary: It's amazing how enough time can heal even the deepest of wounds. Lots of GSR angst and eventually CS. This will be a slash fic so please don't read it if thats not your thing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This begins sometime during Season Three, some of it is kind of cannon and some of it my own ramblings, also I might change certain details to fit the story. I know second person isn't often people's first choice, so sorry if it makes it difficult to read, but I often find myself getting in a rut when I write and wanted to do something different. Also, its going to be very angsty for most of it, and eventually a slash fic, so you might want to look for something else if that isn't your thing. I don't own the characters, I'm just borrowing them for this story. Oh, and I don't have a beta so sorry if there's any mistakes!

* * *

You know you shouldn't be staring again but you are.

'_Look at me. Look at me. Look at me!' _

Of course he doesn't look at you, he doesn't even look up, he just turns and walks away, his head buried in a case file. You sigh inwardly, watching him disappear down the corridor, then turn your attention to the table as you realize you're not the only one staring. You lift your head and meet her challenge, expecting a glare, only to discover something else….concern? No, never from her. Pity. You break the gaze, lift your chin and leave the room with your head held high. You don't need anything from her, you never have.

* * *

Glass, flames, pain. You watch the blood drip drip drip from your hand. Everything is hazy, noisy, blurry. Suddenly he's in front of you, you barely hear his words, mumble a response on autopilot yet he is the only anchor in a sea of chaos.

Later, you're feeling clearer. The pain is gone, the haze is gone, but the memory of the comfort from his presence isn't. Your whole life has been an ocean of chaos, perhaps he can be your sea of tranquility. A deep breath and then you take the plunge. He looks up, you ask, he says no. Of course he says no, it'll always be the same. Loneliness, lust, longing…the pillars of the three years you've been here. Lost in thought, you don't see the figure in front of you until it's too late. Her. Her eyes flicker first to your bandaged hand and when they meet yours the guilt is plain to see. You're glad it's there – this is her fault, this is all her fault, and she doesn't even realize the extent of the damage she's done. The pause is drawn out, awkward, painful, but when she opens her mouth to speak you step around her, nothing she has to say will change anything, even if she hadn't caused this you'd have little interest in anything she had to say.

* * *

Tonight was difficult, the pastel colours of the dawn sky a stark contrast to the darkness that fills your chest. Working the scene, the family's screams had filled your ears, so loud you were shocked no one else could hear them. As the night drew on, you lost more control, went to places in your mind you tried not to visit, and added your screams to the mix. Everyone gave you a wide berth tonight, they all know how these cases affect you.

"Sara."

Damn. You paused for too long, you should have just taken the evidence and fled. Only two hours left of this hell and you can return home to drink yourself into sweet oblivion. A deep breath to calm yourself, hold yourself together, hold it all in…

"Catherine?"

You hate the pity. You hate the judgment. Normally she's just an irritation but right now you hate her, hate the world, everything except the bottle of whisky with your name on it waiting in the liquor cabinet of your apartment.

"I know you haven't stopped all night and I was going to get some breakfast after shift, would you like to join me?"

"No…thank you." You're not thankful for her pity, not one bit but if an argument began now, you're not sure you could control your rage. You take a few steps forward, fighting the urge to run but suddenly she's in front of you, blocking your path to safety.

"Look, I know we're not exactly close-"

Your eyes widen at the severity of her understatement. Maybe you're not mortal enemies but the dislike is obvious to everyone. The last time you spoke more than two words to each other was when she was screaming at you for failing to solve her ex-husbands murder. At the time you kept your cool. In spite of your dislike, you knew grief does crazy things to people. You tried to give her space, be understanding, although it pained you to do so. She needs to extend the same courtesy now, this is bearbaiting, surely she's not too stupid to see that?

"No, we aren't. I appreciate the invitation, but like I said, no thank you."

Another painful pause, the cold dawn air sending shivers up your spine. You need to get out of here, get away from everyone, put those walls back up before all the darkness spills out for the world to see.

"Sara, I know we're not close but I can see that you're hurting. I could put money on what your plans are for after shift. Please, come for breakfast, even if it just delays the inevitable at least you won't be doing it on an empty stomach."

Her plea surprises you, is enough to cut through the angry haze in your mind. She seems genuinely concerned, more than just pity, although why she suddenly cares isn't so clear. Against your better judgment, even though your brain is screaming at you not to, you agree.

* * *

Staring again. That's all you have these days. He avoids interaction with you at all costs. You work cases separately. You miss his mind, his jokes, your endless discussions of science. Your eyes bore into him. How can you be so hyperaware of his every move yet he so oblivious? Assignments are done; you're working with Catherine tonight. He couldn't even look you in the eye.

As you turn you realize she's caught you staring again. Her smile is sympathetic as she offers to let you drive. Working with her isn't so difficult these days. You never really found the cause for her sudden concern, but you do appreciate it. There's still a thousand things about her that drive you crazy, but its become easier to bite your tongue, especially now she does the same.

* * *

Months have passed and he still won't look at you. Work is becoming more unbearable. Every case seems bleaker, every beer tastes sweeter, and it's become a vicious cycle that's beginning to get out of hand. You and Nick are in line for promotion, and you want it badly, not just professionally but for tangible proof that he still values you in some way. You follow your usual after-work routine, grab a beer, flick on the TV. Julie Waters' smiling eyes greet you, the same clip all the media have been playing over and over and over. TV off, beer down, you need something stronger.

* * *

You're too drunk. Normally the 'too' doesn't exist in your mind, there can never be enough drink, but even you have to acknowledge that this morning you've had too much. You've been trying to stand for the last ten minutes to make the short walk from the booth to the bar but every time you try the room spins. You should have drunk at home, alone, but you couldn't bear the silence and the emptiness full of screams only you can hear. The last few days at work have brought you close to your breaking point. You know you should be grateful Julie Waters' case was solved, but you wanted to be the one to do it. You wanted to be the one to bring Delhomme to justice, as then maybe her eyes would stop haunting you. You hate everyone for believing that you're shallow enough to be upset because this was a career case, even though it was you that made them believe that, to keep them away from the truth. Catherine. Catherine has ruined everything again with her need to flaunt her sexuality and prove she's the best. This is what happens when you let your guard down, when you trust someone even a little bit.

"_I want the other one. The pretty one."_

Hell, you'd rather be smart than pretty anyway, but what really stings is he just let her have the case. He could see it was important to you but he didn't care. What hurts you more is that you know that even if he knew the real reason you wanted to solve this case, he still would've given it away. The bartender catches your eye, then reading your mind or more likely the dazed expression on your face, reaches for the phone. Now to just make it to the cab….

* * *

"_It's sad, isn't it, doc? Guys like us. Couple of middle-aged men who've allowed their work to consume their lives. The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves. We wake up one day and realize that for fifty years we haven't really lived at all. But then, all of a sudden we get a second chance. Somebody young and beautiful shows up. Somebody ... we could care about. She offers us a new life with her. But we have a big decision to make, right? Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her. I couldn't do it. But you did. You risked it all. And she showed you a wonderful life, didn't she? But then she took it away and gave it to somebody else...and you were lost."_

You can barely contain your tears, and that makes you angry. You aren't a crier. You learned from an early age that tears bought more pain, tears made you weak, and it angers you that they're coming now over something so trivial. You just can't stand the finality of his speech. Four years of hopes, dreams, fantasies, dashed with a few simple words. Why do you care so much? Nothing happened. Nothing. Just hints of something that could be. You're so pathetic, so emotionally crippled. Four years obsessing over nothing. Four years you could have spent finding a real love, building a life, marriage, children even, but you're too afraid so you've spent them chasing your emotionally unavailable mentor. And the worst part is that's how you'll probably spend the next four years. Alone. A quiet cough from the doorway of the locker room reminds you that you're not alone physically, so you pull yourself together and look up to face the intruder. Why is it always her? Every time you're at your most vulnerable she has to be there. Does she sense your suffering and come to revel in it?

"Let's get a beer."

"No."

No time for pleasantries, the tears are still threatening to escape and this is the last place you want to be if you can't contain them.

"I wasn't asking. Let's go."

She's blocking your way and you resist the urge to push her. She's smaller than you anyway, combine her size with all the anger bubbling up to the surface and you could do her some serious harm. Not that part of you wouldn't love to hurt her, but prison gets ugly. So begins a stand off. One thing you've always begrudgingly admired is her determination. She isn't moving. She isn't going to move. One beer. You don't even have to talk.

"Okay Catherine, you win."

* * *

The beer is ice cold, and once you make it to your fourth one it begins to soothe your aching heart. The standoff began again when you reached the bar as neither of you wants to break the silence. But the longer you sit, the more you drink, the more you feel like talking, just say something, anything...

"Why the sudden show of concern? Are you trying to make it an annual event?"

Well, you wanted to talk. Doesn't mean it had to be nice.

"I never stopped being concerned after the first time. You then made it clear that concern was unwanted."

"Just like you made it clear from the first moment we met that you didn't like me. Also, you showed real concern for me when you stole my career case."

Game set and match Willows. Your move.

"If that's your way of asking what changed things, it was the concern you showed for me and Lindsay during Eddie's murder case. I know my behaviour didn't reflect that at the time but I was upset and afterwards, with a little time for reflection I could see you truly did the best you could and you handled everything, including my outburst incredibly well. After the care you showed us then I wanted to reciprocate. As for the Julie Waters case, like I said before, it wasn't personal, it wasn't that I felt you weren't up to the job, I just had an in. It's as simple as that. You'll do the same if it ever comes to it."

She lapses back into silence and gives you time to process what she's said. There's a very little part of you, buried deep down that wants to believe she cares. The idea that anyone cares about you is wonderful. But another part of you, damaged by years of varying types of abuse from many different people, including this woman, screams not to trust her.

"You didn't exactly fight to try and fix things again."

Her sigh is audible, she's frustrated but not angry.

"I was hoping you'd come around but you never did. I've been trying to think of a way to talk to you over the last few weeks anyway, but after seeing how upset you were today I felt it had to be now. I'm sorry for my comment about your resemblance to the victim, it was insensitive."

"Yeah it was."

You both slip back into silence. What does she want from you? This is unchartered territory, this openness and honesty from her, you're used to bitchiness and snide remarks. Although, since that breakfast, if you take her word that taking the case wasn't personal, there hasn't been any of that from her side…just from you. More beer, more silence, until you can stand it no longer.

"I don't know why I keep hoping he'll change his mind, suddenly decide he wants me."

Her eyes widen, shocked by your admission. You know she knows about your feelings, but until a second ago you both expected hell to freeze over before you actually discussed them with her.

"He does want you. It's not a question of that. He could lose his job."

"So why ask me here, why hint at it, why the light touches, the little comments that make me think he's coming around, only for him to pull away again?"

You can't stop the words from coming now you've started. This is a mistake, but your mouth keeps betraying your mind.

"He can't help himself Sara. Put yourself in his position – you're young, beautiful, intelligent, and you're throwing yourself at him. Everyone has moments of weakness, even the great Gil Grissom. He's bound to slip up sometimes. But you love your job, he loves his job and the only way the two of you could ever be together is if one of you left, which he's not going to do, and neither are you."

She's right. You know she's right. You've always known all of this deep down but it still feels good to finally say it out loud.

"You're practically a supervisor, so if you were in his position, what would you do?"

She doesn't even have to think about it.

"I would risk it, but he and I are very different. I love my job too, but I love people first."

"Okay, but back to the original question – why did he invite me here?"

She thinks about her answer for a second and you can't help but appreciate the way her eyes light up when she solves the problem.

"He needed help, and he wanted the best he could get."

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **No beta, so all mistakes are my own.

* * *

You know you shouldn't be staring, but you are.

Strip clubs have never really been your choice of venue, and yet here you are. The rest of the room is a hazy, testosterone filled blur – your eyes are glued to the stage. A spotlight, a curtain and a blonde on a pole.

You jump awake, your eyes adjust to the light and you're back in the comfort of your bedroom. Dreams have never been your friend, making you relive the very darkest moments of your life over and over, every night, your heart pounding as you wake. As it does tonight, but for an altogether different reason. This wasn't a memory, and for that you're grateful, but the heat of the moment is clouding your brain and making you feel things that aren't real. Although this was preferable to your usual topic, when you lie back down you say a silent prayer for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Work tonight was a bitch.

He ignored you, as usual. You had to work with him and Catherine, and anything he wanted to pass on to you was relayed through her.

Her.

That unfortunate dream wasn't a one-off occurrence. To make matters worse she's switched up the dynamics, instead of spiteful words you get glorious smiles.

Glorious? Really? Those dreams are frying your brain more than you realised.

So tonight, between the sting of his rejection and your embarrassment in her presence, has been unbearable.

You're broken from your reverie by the scent of coffee and hint of vanilla. You fight the desire to blush as blue eyes meet your own.

"You're extra distant tonight. I guessed you were tired, hence the coffee, but thought I'd make sure nothing else was bothering you."

You were hoping for a nasty remark, an argument, you need that familiarity. You also need to respond. She's waiting. Anything will do.

"Is that new perfume you're wearing?"

Anything but that. There's no stopping that blush now so you're staring at the floor, praying she doesn't notice.

Her surprise is evident.

"Well, no perfume for work, but I switched my shampoo. I'm pretty sure that that's not what's bothering you though. You need better diversion tactics Sidle, you suck at small talk."

You're better than she thinks.

* * *

He didn't pick you. You know it isn't personal, and yet it is. You've lost any shred of personal or professional approval you had from him, not that there was much in the first place, so why is it so devastating? The post no longer exists. You're being stupid. You know this. And then you kick yourself for being stupid. You're a Harvard graduate, you're a forensic expert, neither of these translates to the pathetic wreck you've become. You know it's stupid to get in the car when you've had so much to drink. You know it's stupid to click on the seatbelt, put the key in the ignition but hey, you're on a roll, why stop now? At least you have the sense to pull over after the blue flashes light up your rearview mirror.

Tonight was the first time in forever he looked at you. Maybe you should drink-drive more often. After endless promises of counselling and sobriety you're alone with your thoughts. He cared tonight, and that made this worth it. That realisation leads to another – you need help.

* * *

He still keeps his distance, but he's more present again.

You're healing. You're here. You're no longer drowning in a haze of drink and emotion. He's no longer your anchor and you're removing links from the chain day by day.

She's more present and more frustratingly nice than ever before. You know she's in his confidence, just how much you're uncertain of. Is it pity? Maybe she just likes you.

Your dreams have taken you to more interesting places with her. For a while it was impossible to look her in the eye. Now you embrace them and match her smile with yours, engage in small talk, enjoy the light she brings to a room and the ease of a conversation with her.

* * *

You fought with her and now you're suspended. He came, he held your hand, he was there physically, emotionally, and it feels wonderful but all is not well.

You relived it all, spilled your deepest darkest secrets, and he listened, he comforted, he consoled. But it's not enough. Part of you hates her, and part of you hates yourself for how you spoke to her. You want it to just be about the case but you were irrational for other reasons. You're getting what you wanted - you're getting him - and all you can think about is blonde hair, blue eyes and a hint of vanilla.

**TBC**


End file.
